


gardenias alive

by nonopiimagines



Series: Requests [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Attempted Angst, Blood, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of coughing up flowers, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 14:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonopiimagines/pseuds/nonopiimagines
Summary: hayner x readerhayner remembers moments with the reader as he suffers from hanahaki disease.





	gardenias alive

It was easy to deny the feelings at first. He had never experienced them before. All he knew was that he wanted to be around you all the time. He would make up dumb excuses just to sit next to you at school or to have you meet him at the Usual Spot before Pence and Olette got there. You would always laugh and nod your head, giving him an “Okay, Hayner” in a teasing voice, like you already knew what his intentions were and you were just playing along until he finally understood what it really meant.

But he was just content to be around you.

It was enough. At the time.

Looking back, he could so easily pick out the turning point. You both had entered the Struggle Tournament and you had been practicing together for _weeks_ at that point. You had spent so much time together that you knew every move he was going to make. He could’ve said the same for himself, but you were always a little bit quicker. 

He remembered the way his heart jumped in his throat when you knocked him over, the struggle bat flying out of his hand. Your figure appeared above him, leaning over him as he laid there on the ground, your eyes staring into his. He recognized what he saw there, a mixture of fear and wonder. The announcer called out your name in his loud, booming voice but you didn’t move and he so badly in that moment wanted to congratulate you, hug you, kiss you so you didn’t have to look at him that way anymore. 

“You beat me,” he hoped he said it as softly and gently as he imagined he did. 

You nodded at him, a small smile appearing for a brief second on your face before you bit it away, your teeth digging into your bottom lip. 

“Don’t just sit there,” maybe his voice wavered, but he didn’t want to believe it did. “You earned this.”

“Thanks, Hayner,” he only got to see your face for a moment more, before you were helping him off the ground to the cheers of the audience encircling the struggle ring. He thought he saw relief and a moment of bliss on your face, and he remembered the way his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He was so proud. If anyone was going to beat him, it deserved to be you.

When he went back to that moment, it always brought the flowers up. He felt the tickle of the petals in the back of his throat and as much as he was tired of letting it overcome him, tired of letting the coughs wrack his body, he had no control over this. His trash can was already full of white petals sprayed with flecks of red, he had now moved to a large bowl. It too had petals, but larger and larger bunches were coming up now. 

His mom had come up earlier to check on him, her cool hand on his forehead, always saying, “They’re not full flowers yet, baby. There’s still time.”

He’d just grumble in response, but it gave him some peace of mind. _There’s still time._

And he wasn’t planning on giving up yet. Today was the one year anniversary of that moment, the day of the annual Struggle Tournament. Pence and Olette agreed to take him there to watch. It may be the last time he ever gets to. 

As he lay back down, with the floral taste in his mouth, he closed his eyes, trying not to think of you, but it always came back to you. Always. _Always._

He wasn’t ready for the petals when they first came. He didn’t even know what was happening. He remembered it being the first week back at school. You both shared a lot of classes and he had honestly thought that this might be the one year of school that wasn’t going to be a drag the whole time. 

The last bell rang for the day, you had told him you had to stop somewhere before going to the Usual Spot. He tried to catch up with you because maybe this one moment of being alone together in the thousands of moments of being alone together, would be the one where he finally told you how he was feeling. He thought about it too often. How he would want to grab your hands and hold them tightly, and look into your eyes as he said something too simple like, “Hey, I like you.” If it was so easy in his head, why could he never actually do it?

It was his biggest regret. He never admitted to having any regrets, but in reality, in the deepest, darkest pits of himself, he knew. He regretted never telling you.

Because when he finally caught up to you that day, rounding the corner, waiting for the tram to pass, he saw you. Standing with your back toward him, holding hands with Seifer, as you talked animatedly to him. Hayner stopped dead in his tracks. He thought he felt the familiar overwhelming sensation of his heart jumping into his throat, but it was something more sinister this time. A soft but uncomfortable sensation. His eyes welled up in pain as he held it back, making a dash for the Usual Spot where he sat and coughed relentlessly until one or two white petals spilled out of his throat, his chest finally able to breathe. 

He didn’t think it was the fact that you were holding hands with Seifer that triggered it, it was the fact that you both looked so happy. The way he was looking at you, that was the way Hayner looked at you. He knew it because he felt it too. He was undeniably happy when you were around. But now, it was different.

And he remembered the next part so vividly because it hurt both of you in a way that couldn’t be fixed so easily. As he sat at the Usual Spot with his head in his hands, the only thing he could focus on was breathing. In and out. In and out. 

He heard you approaching. He heard you set your bag down, your shoes crunching on the gravel that littered the floor, but he couldn’t look at you. He didn’t look at you. So you did the thing you probably felt was right. You put your hand on his back and leaned over to look at his face through his fingers. 

“Are you okay, Hayner?” 

Fuck. Of course he wasn’t okay. Your hand felt like fire, burning through two layers of cloth, into his skin, leaving a mark there that sunk into his core and ignited a fire in his lungs. He coughed briefly, jumping up from his chair, eager to get away from your touch. 

“Don’t touch me,” his voice was just a croak before another cough bubbled up out of him, this time bringing a petal with it. He spit it out of his mouth, into the dirt. He rubbed at it with his shoe, eager to reduce the brilliant white petals into nothing. He wanted this to be nothing. He didn’t want to like you anymore.

But when he finally brought his eyes up to look at you, he knew that wasn’t true. Everything you were to him, you still were. Seifer couldn't tarnish it. Even if he tried. But it still hurt, it still ached, it wouldn’t stop. And your face was a reflection of that. 

“Can I get you some water?” you asked again, taking a few tentative steps toward him.

But he backed away, toward the exit. “Of everyone, why him? Why does it have to be him?” He had to know. His voice felt stronger in that moment. He felt stronger. It was probably the last time he felt close to normal.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. The way your eyes lit up in realization and then your frown turned your face somber. You brought your hands up to rub at your arms as you looked away in uncertainty. “I don’t have an answer for you.”

And in that moment, Hayner didn't hesitate. He wanted you to hurt like he hurt. “Then don’t come back here. Don’t talk to me, Pence, or Olette ever again. You were never our friend.”

That was the last time he spoke to you. He stormed off after that, leaving you with tears streaming down your face, petals coming up his throat in wet, heavy coughs the entire way home. It only took his mom a few minutes to understand what was happening and explain it to him. _Hanahaki._

“It’s only because your so passionate, Hay.” His mother, always the optimist. Even as she watched the days go by, her son slowly suffocating on love and flowers. 

Now he lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Some memories, some dreams, triggered the coughing fits. The memory of that day at the Usual Spot only filled him with regret, but it didn’t cause the flowers to tickle at his throat. In some ways it was worse. The regret would lull him to sleep and his brain would conjure up what-ifs. What if he had kissed you when you beat him in the Struggle Tournament? What if he told you his feelings right then and there? What if you burst through his bedroom door and sat with him, your hands holding his in your lap, your sad smile hoping he would get better, and maybe you would leave quietly with a kiss on his forehead? Those thoughts, those wishes, those hopes, they brought the flowers to bloom ever bigger. His coughs getting worse, more blood and mucus covering the delicate white petals as they erupted out of his throat, tears streaming down his face at the exertion. 

After he was calm again, his mom would bring up tea with honey, as she was doing now. 

“Lots of honey for my honey.” She presented him with a large mug, a tea bag string drifting around the handle.

“Thanks, mom.” The heat and honey felt soothing, though he knew it did little to quell the coughs. 

She nodded, only letting the sadness and pain seep to the surface just briefly. For that he was grateful, he was grumpy enough for both of them. 

“Olette and Pence are downstairs when you’re ready.” She put a hand on his blanket-covered leg for emphasis. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” though his voice was gravelly and croaky, it was the most firm and confident it had been in awhile. He wanted her to know it would be okay and he proved it with a long slurp of tea. 

She laughed as she got up to leave, giving him one last look over before leaving him alone in his bedroom. He took a few more sips of tea, trying to invigorate his body for the journey it was about to embark on. Showering and dressing was the easiest part. It was staring at his bedroom door that was the hardest. He left is room so little now, spending most of the day sleeping. He tried not to look over at the trash can filled with petals, some stray ones laying on the floor nearby. It was easier if he didn’t think too much. Just do, don’t think.

So he grasped the door handle and yanked it open. He padded softly down the carpet-covered stairs to the living room below, where Pence and Olette were waiting on the couch talking. They looked at him as he approached, looking hopeful but ultimately realizing the state of his sickness in the bags under his eyes and the sickly tone of his skin. He saw the brief flash of pity on their faces and decided to act. “Let’s go.”

He was out the front door before they could say anything. The last thing he wanted was pity. He wanted to think he had some control over what was happening to him, that this was partially his fault for choosing you. He didn’t want to be pitied for liking you. For wanting to be around you. For wanting to be happy. For wanting to feel. 

But Pence and Olette caught up and stayed by his side the entire time. They talked about the match-ups and how it was looking to be you and Seifer in the final again. Pence pointed out that Sora entered this year too, so he might mix up the standings. Olette just scoffed and explained that Sora fighting with a Keyblade is different than wielding a struggle bat. Hayner vaguely listened as they talked, at least a little happy that they were trying to make things seem normal. Hearing your name brought a tickle to his throat, but he tried to cough as little as possible to make himself seem healthier than he really was. The last thing he wanted was Pence and Olette to drag him right back home before he even got to finish watching one struggle match.

When they finally arrived at the tournament, Hayner’s gaze immediately gravitated toward you practicing some swings with your bat up on the struggle stage. There was something in your eye that hadn’t been there before. A determination that ran deeper, something verging on revenge. Seifer was on the other end of the ring, talking to Fuu, Rai, and Vivi. 

Hayner tried not to look for too long, already feeling a coughing fit come up his throat. He quickly grabbed a honey candy his mom had given him earlier and popped it into his mouth. She said it could help soothe his throat like the tea. It seemed to help a little as he coughed a few times into his hand, trying to catch the petals that were spilling out, his head throbbing from his inability to breathe. He tried not to dwell on the pain as the coughing subsided. 

“First match of the day! Seifer versus the reigning champion, Y/N!” The announcer called from beside the stage. There were cheers from the crowd at the sound of your name, and he couldn’t help but smile, a familiar burn beginning in his lungs. 

“Ready! Steady! Struggle!” 

The memories bubbled up again, from when this all began. After you beat Hayner, after you stared into his eyes, after he didn’t kiss you, you were pitted against Seifer. You won against him too. He remembered you smiling as you accepted the trophy, how he and Pence and Olette came up to hug you and congratulate you. How you all bought sea-salt ice cream after the fanfare was over and how you sat on the clocktower in the twilight sky. You had sat closer to Hayner than usual, your knees occasionally brushing each other as you talked with Olette about having a sleepover that weekend. He kept staring and staring at the contact until he realized you were looking at him, your eyes wandering over his figure, a big smile plastered to your face.

“What are you looking at?” He tried to be nonchalant and flippant, but he was sure his face betrayed him in that moment.

“You. Hayner.” You poked him in the arm after each syllable, wanting him to understand but he wouldn’t until it was too late.

Instead, he just made a noise and looked away, trying to cover the blush heating up his cheeks. He didn’t understand then, but he understood now. 

And as he watched you landing strike after strike on Seifer, backing him into a corner, a fire in your eyes that he had never seen before, he looked at you truly. This was the closest he had been to you in a long time. You were fast, you were strong, you were smart, you were beautiful, and you looked at him too. A momentary glance, your eyes flicked up to meet his and it was over. Seifer wasn’t beaten yet but it didn’t matter. The match was null when you jumped off the stage as Hayner was falling over, the honey candy falling out of his mouth as he coughed and coughed, on his hands and knees, his gasping breaths trying to bring air into his lungs but there wasn’t enough room amidst all the flowers. The bunches of petals fell uncontrollably from his mouth, sprayed in blood and mucus and saliva, looking beautiful and tainted but unbound. They were full gardenias now. And the last thing he felt were your hands on his shoulders as he fell further and further, the world going darker around him. You burned him inside and out.

\---

He didn’t want to wake up. His mouth was bone dry, his chest felt heavier than ever before, and he was cold for the first time in a long time. He refused to open his eyes, he knew where he was but acknowledging it meant that it was all downhill from here. It meant that the end was approaching. The flowers would kill him soon.

And it wasn’t fair. 

If he could love life more than he loved you, would it be over? Could he get up and walk out of here? Go back to the Usual Spot like nothing had happened? Pence and Olette there to greet him like they had before, no flashes of pity crossing their faces when they thought he wasn’t paying attention? 

But what would happen when he saw you? Would he feel nothing? Would he carry on like you never meant a thing to him? Like you never spent all summer training together, laughing together, _being_ together? Like you never made him feel so differently than he had with anyone else? And what would you do? Drift away and forget everything? Carry on with your life and never see Hayner as anyone more than just a stranger that maybe you had known in a different time? 

His eyes shot open and he was coughing again. Disoriented and confused, he sat up holding his arm to his mouth as the coughing continued, his other hand looking for a bowl, a bucket, something to hold the petals that were beginning to spill out. 

In a split second, his mom came rushing into the room with a nurse following behind her. Her soothing hands were at his back in an instant, rubbing circles, encouraging him to get it all out. “Just breathe, baby,” she whispered, a familiar mantra that she had learned early on in his sickness, but it was calming all the same. 

The nurse eventually pushed a plastic bin into his lap, where he coughed up the remaining petals and full flowers, though there were still plenty scattered on the bed now. He didn’t want to look at them as he handed the bin back to the nurse. He didn’t want to see how much of his body covered those flowers, how it was trying to fight back but ultimately failing. As his head started throbbing from the exertion and lack of oxygen, he let his body fall back into the bed, his eyes closing, trying to focus on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Don’t focus on the heavy, wet feeling that plagued his lungs. In and out. In and out. Just breathe.

“Have a drink, Hay.” His mom’s hand was already back in his, holding it tight. Anchoring him there. 

He opened his eyes again, the nurse holding out a cup with a lid and straw near his face. He grumbled, bringing up his free hand to grab the cup from the nurse instead of him feeding it to him like a child. The water did little to soothe his aching throat, but his mouth felt less dry, allowing him to lick his chapped lips to try to rehydrate them too. 

“It’s good to see you up.” 

He glanced briefly at his mom as he was setting his empty cup on the bedside table. She looked like she wanted to say more, but was holding back.

“It’s good to be up,” he croaked out, his voice had never sounded this bad before. Perhaps it was because his body knew it was a lie. At this point, this was all that was left for him. Sleeping and coughing. And if he had to choose, he knew which it would be. 

It was silent again for a few moments as Hayner watched his nurse take his vitals and fill out paperwork before attaching it back to the end of the bed. He wondered what it said about him. _Disease is progressing at a normal rate. Flowers are full-sized, flecked with blood and mucus. Paroxysmal coughing lasted for three minutes before tapering off. Fluids are normal. Oxygen absorption at 95% with assistance._ It sounded legitimate in his head. 

When the nurse left, his mom sighed and shifted in her chair. Hayner knew she was getting ready to say something that bothered her. He turned his head in preparation, wanting her to feel like he was unafraid so she didn’t have to worry so much, so she could speak freely. He would do anything for her, even if it hurt him in the process. 

“Do you remember what happened before you passed out?” She was sliding her thumb against his palm as she asked it, rubbing away the tension. 

“I don’t want to.” Maybe he said it too quickly, because her eyes hardened, as if she were going to scold him. So he changed his answer. “I don’t need to.” 

“Okay, then we’ll talk about what happened after.”

“I don’t think I need to hear that either, mom.”

He tried to look away, to end the conversation, to prevent the memories from causing another coughing fit, but she held his gaze and squeezed his hand in a way that scared him. 

But her voice was clear and even. “I think it will help you, Hayner.” 

He was beyond the point of help. But the way her eyes were shining, made him pause. He trusted his mom more than anything, why would this time be any different? So he nodded.

“When I first got here, there were three people in the room with you. Olette, Pence, and someone else. Someone I didn’t recognize.” 

Hayner’s heart stopped. He was forced to remember the way Pence and Olette stood behind him, the comfort he felt at having them there at the Struggle Tournament with him. He was forced to remember the way he felt when the flowers started pushing their way up and out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe, the way he fell to the ground gasping for air, wishing he could be anywhere else. And he forced himself to remember the last piece of consciousness he had: the way you had jumped off the stage, the way you held onto his shoulders, the way your eyes looked so scared and sad, and how badly he just wanted to be alone with you in that moment. He would die happy, in that way. 

And he clutched his mom’s hand, waiting for the coughs to erupt out of his body, for the flowers to make their painful, beautiful appearance, but they didn’t. He could feel the hesitation in his body, both him and his disease waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to reveal itself. 

“Y/N?” He felt the taste of hope on his tongue, being able to say your name aloud for the first time in a long time. 

“Y/N.” His mom confirmed with a slow nod, keeping her eyes trained on her son. “And Y/N came back every day asking about you. Wanting to see you.” 

He was frozen, not knowing what to do or say. He was unafraid to return to his memories now, even the painful ones. He left you that day after saying those hurtful things to you, after seeing you with Seifer, after feeling his heart twist in his chest in frustration and disappointment that he couldn’t understand at the time. But you still cared. You still came back to see him. Every. Day. All he could do was look at his mom and wait for her next words. 

“Is Y/N… _the_ person?” Maybe she didn’t put it so eloquently, but he understood what she was asking. 

“Yes.” He wasn’t afraid to say it. There was only one person he wouldn’t freely admit it to.

“Do you love Y/N?” 

To that, Hayner rolled his eyes and gave her a hoarse chuckle. “Look at me, mom.”

“I know, I know.” She was smiling now, really smiling. And Hayner couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Y/N is here, out in the waiting room. If you’re ready.” 

Was he ready? He probably looked like shit. His breath probably stank from how dry his mouth was. He might fall asleep in the middle of their conversation because of how tired he felt. But he had nothing left to lose. Just seeing you and being around you might make things clearer. 

So he nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

His mom gave his hand one last squeeze before she left the room to go fetch you. Hayner suddenly felt very aware of the IV needle in his arm, the breathing tube attached to his nose, and the weird open-back hospital gown he was wearing. He felt a lot less confident and a lot more vulnerable than he did a few moments ago. But this was bound to be a conversation that he could never be prepared for, he would have to accept that.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” There you were with a smile on your face, softly closing the door behind you. He watched you unabashedly as you walked around the room, assessing the bland art on the hospital walls and the dismal amount of sunlight seeping in from the one window in the room. When you finally took a seat on the chair next to the bed, you met his gaze fully for the first time in a long time. “What’s with that dopey smile on your face, Hayner?”

“I’m just… happy,” he immediately looked up at the ceiling, to hide his blush before he finished his thought. “Happy to see you.” 

“I’m happy to see you too.” 

You took his hand in yours and he swore he felt his chest lighten just a little, his throat only feeling sore but the tickle that normally accompanied a coughing fit wasn’t there. The thought flashed across his mind that maybe pushing you away was the worst thing he could’ve done. Just having you there seemed to soothe the flowers from blooming in his chest. 

“Hayner, when I saw you pass out, I was really scared.” He could feel you looking at him but he was afraid to turn his head. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to see fear or pity in your eyes. The last thing he wanted from you was obligation. He didn’t want to force you to be here because you felt bad, because you felt you had to. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” was all he could think to say, to stop you from sacrificing yourself for him. He wasn’t a charity case. He was ready to shutdown. To turn around and tell you to get out. He could feel the flowers moving again, the tickle threatening to rip his mouth open and cough until he produced a bouquet that he could throw at your feet. 

“Fine, but can you at least look at me?” you pleaded, leaning over to put your hand on his cheek, gently nudging him to face you. 

He relented, knowing what he expected to see but not finding it there in your eyes. He wasn’t sure what you were going to say next, so he held his coughs back as best he could, sure he was going to pay the price later. 

You held his face for a moment, your eyes moving and studying him until you decided to speak. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day that at the Usual Spot.”

“Look, I’m sor--” Hayner began to say, ready to apologize and explain his actions but you wouldn’t let him.

“Shut up. Let me talk.” You paused for emphasis, hand still on his cheek, warmth seeping through them into his cold, clammy skin. Your words weren’t as forceful as they sounded. “I kept thinking and thinking about you. About us. I think I was always waiting for you, Hayner.”

Waiting for him? Waiting for what? You paused again, moving from the chair to sit on the side of the bed, closer to him, so you could drag your hand through his hair and settle on his neck. Maybe it was his exhaustion or maybe it was the fact that he had never been so close to you before and feeling you touch him, comfort him, it was overwhelming. His desire to cough was replaced with the feeling of his heart jumping out of his chest but he didn’t want to break whatever chain reaction was occurring, so he laid there, as still as possible, hoping that you would continue.

“But that’s the thing with waiting. You don’t always get what you’re waiting for. And sometimes distractions come by and they make you think that the waiting’s over, but you always come back. You were always waiting for a reason, whether you knew it or not. I was waiting for a reason, whether I knew it or not.” You paused again, looking toward the ceiling, finding the right words as Hayner waited silently, watching you, completely enamored by what you were saying because at the end of it would be the real answer. “But then I realized that I don’t have to wait. I don’t have to wait for you, Hayner. I can just come get you on my own. And it only took you passing out in front of me for me to realize that.”

You laughed at the last part of your sentence but Hayner was still too focused on the meaning. He clutched your hand tightly, wanting you to just say the words straight out in front of him. No more of this metaphor bullshit. Say it plainly so this can be over, whatever the outcome may be.

“What are you saying?” he croaked out, wondering if you would understand everything he was trying to ask in this one question.

You just smiled fondly in return and took a deep breath. “I like you, Hayner. Do you like me?”

All at once it hit him. It was the last thing he expected to happen in a moment like this. All he wanted to do was say one word. But he was overcome with coughing as soon as he opened his mouth. It was more painful than he had ever felt before, his throat constricting around the multitude of petals and flowers trying to break towards the surface of his body. Was it too late for him? 

He vaguely registered you saying words to him, your hand still clutching his but your weight wasn’t on the bed anymore. His head throbbed violently as he kept coughing and coughing, but nothing was coming out of him, but he could feel it at the back of his throat, maybe stuck, maybe waiting for the end. His eyes could only show him a blurry world where he could only guess that his mom had rushed toward the bed beside you, the weight of her hand covering both yours and his. Two other blurred figures moved around on the other side of the bed, maybe a doctor and a nurse. Why weren’t they helping him? Why did it seem like everything was at a standstill around him while these terrible flowers held his life in the balance?

Hayner decided he couldn’t wait for them. Maybe that’s what you were talking about the whole time. Solve your own problems. Go towards your own solution. Don’t let other people decide your fate. So he waited for a small break between the coughs wracking his body and he reached with his free hand into his mouth, his fingertips brushing the soft, moist petals before gripping their woody base and pulling. He had never felt more scared in his life as his throat convulsed, trying to accommodate the intrusion while he slowly, carefully pulled the flower from his mouth followed by the wooden stem, another smaller flower, and a few deep green leaves. It felt agonizing. It felt like an eternity. The flowers were pillowy and light, but the stem and leaves left scratches in their wake. He didn’t know if the taste of blood was from his mouth or from the usual smattering that accompanied the flowers. 

But when he was finally done and he held the sturdy stem in his hands, the flowers and leaves shining wet with mucus and spit, he fell back on his pillow and gasped for breath. There was no weight in his chest anymore. There was no heaviness, no wetness to his breaths. He could breathe even and deep and the only thing that ached inside him was his throat and his mouth and the desire to look over and see your face again. 

Though his head still throbbed and his vision was still a little blurry, he turned his head to see you and his mom, hands still holding his, standing so close together, both smiling at each other and at him. He felt so relieved and so incredibly lucky in this moment. 

Somewhere in the room, the doctor and nurse were speaking to his mom, who nodded enthusiastically to what they were saying. But all he could focus on was you standing there, looking at him with a sweet smile that glowed like nothing he had seen before. 

Slowly, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and whisper in his ear, “It’s over, Hayner. It’s over.”

And though he felt exhausted and thoroughly beaten down, he gathered the last of his strength to hug you back.

**Author's Note:**

> requests are always open, find me on the tumblr @nonopiimagines


End file.
